


It Had to Be You

by consulting_tomato



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Au-everything is the same except Mycroft owns a Jazz club, Drinking, M/M, possible hints of Johnlock, probably smut at some point', wont be influnced by what happens in s3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 14:19:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/consulting_tomato/pseuds/consulting_tomato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Greg Lestrade wanders into a jazz club one night, he finds himself learning some new things about the enigmatic Mycroft Holmes. (previously Bye Bye Blackbird)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stormy Weather

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so it's really late at night when I finished this so there are probably some errors. Also I'm not British so there are probably some things that are oddly american. If you see something so grammatically horrendous, or completely un-British, let me know so I doesn't offend anyone else's eyes. Besides that I hope you enjoy it. I will try and update once or twice next week.

Lestrade figured it was just his luck that he ended up caught in the perpetual London rain. And that the one time he happened to be caught out in the rain, it was raining harder than it had been for the entire week.  He silently cursed Sherlock for his almost supernatural ability to catch a cab, as well as Sherlock leaving him out in this unpleasant weather. Of course some of the blame had to fall on John , who wasn’t there to make sure Sherlock didn’t traumatize another witness. He couldn’t fault John for wanting a break from the detective, but Lestrade wished that he wasn’t Sherlock’s back up conscience.

As Greg could feel the rain pour harder, he attempted to shield himself with his coat, with little success. It was then when a light on in a building across the street caught his eye. It appeared to be some sort of pub, with faded lettering above reading The Diogenes.  He ran toward the building with the hope that it could provide a temporary refuge from the downpour.

 

~

 

Upon entering the building, Lestrade notices that the Diogenes is not a pub, but a nightclub that would be found in the twenties. There were about twelve patrons speaking quietly amongst themselves while an old jazz tune was being emitted from a record player.

Greg took a seat at the empty bar and waved the bartender over to ask for an Irish coffee, and by the time it was brought over the song had changed into one that had felt more familliar. As Greg was contemplating the song, and it’s title, Stormy Weather , he thought it might have been, he didn’t notice the man take a seat beside him.

~

When Mycroft had entered the Diogenes on a rainy everything was exactly the way it normally was at twelve at night on a tuesday, except for a few small things: the songs were slower, the drinks were warmer, and a man who certainly was not a regular was sitting at the bar.

The puddle around his feet had indicated that he had been caught in the rain and had simply gone here for shelter. All the more interesting was that from this angle he bore a resemblance to Sherlock’s favorite detective inspector.

He took a seat before turning to the man and stating,

“Personally I think Lena Horne’s rendition of Stormy Weather is the best version, she just adds an elegance to the song.”

The man, who Mycroft was now very certain was D.I. Lestrade looked a bit surprised to have been talked to.

“I guess… Have I met you somewhere before?” he inquired.

“I believe so, my younger brother is a consultant of yours.”

“Bloody hell, you’re Sherlock’s brother.” Greg exclaimed. Mycroft made a noise sounding very much like a laugh.

“Indeed I am. “ Lestrade emitted a noise that was a mixture of a groan and a chuckle.

“So there’s two of you eh?”

“Yes, although rest assured I do not involve myself in my brother and your line of work that often. I am rather busy with my own post.”

The detective inspector remembered Sherlock mentioning something about Mycroft’s job. “I guess being the British Government must be a busy job.” Greg replied jokingly.

“I do wish my dear brother would stop telling people falsities that I am the British Government.” Mycroft sighed.

“Well perhaps if you told the truth-”

“That would be highly unlikely. I do not maintain the job I possess by spilling classified secrets to drenched men in jazz clubs.” Mycroft interrupted causing Lestrade to laugh heartily.

“I suppose’ not. Do you often go to clubs like these?” Greg inquired.

“Just this one, and that is because I am a partial owner.”

“So you are here to check up on it?”

“That and I enjoy the atmosphere.” Mycroft replied and Greg nodded in agreement. The two men sat in silence for a few minutes just listening to the music. Lestrade broke the silence by asking.

“So besides being the British government and owning a jazz club, do you have any other hobbies?”

“I don’t have any other modes of employment or partially own other establishments, if that is what you mean, If you are referring to my leisurely activities, I do a myriad of them. Although due to the aforementioned careers I have very little time to spare.”

Mycroft found himself saying much more to Lestrade about his life then he would for anyone else. The detective inspector  just seemed to allow for more open conversations, which would be a helpful for interrogating witnesses. This however, felt much less like an interrogation to Mycroft.  

“Mr. Holmes, sorry to interrupt, but it is almost closing time. Was there anything else you need to do here tonight?” The bartender asked.

“Not at all, thank you Marcus.’ Mycroft responded before turning to Lestrade, “ If you would like, you may sojourn at my home, which is just down the street, as opposed to attempting to return to your home at this hour. ‘

“If it’s not a problem for you.”

“Not at all. ‘Mycroft wondered what had prompted such an invitation. By no means would Mycroft consider himself an unkind man, but he wasn’t fond of opening his home to near strangers either.

“Thanks, mate.” Greg flashed him a toothy grin which caused Mycroft to smile in return.

“Let’s go.”

~

Greg stood by the door, looking out onto the street where it was still pouring rain.

“You don’t happen to have a spare umbrella?’

“I do not, however, mine is adequate for sharing.’ said Mycroft, while opening said umbrella.

They walked down the street in silence listening to rain hit the umbrella. At the end of the street Mycroft gestured toward a tall building.

“That one.”  He said, before closing his umbrella and walking inside. Greg followed him in. They walked towards the lift, where Mycroft procured a key card from his pocket which allowed access to the lift. Once inside he pushed the button for the top level.

“This really was a convenient distance from the club.” Greg stated.

“Indeed, it is partially why I chose this flat.”

At that moment the lift stopped and opened at Mcroft’s floor, where they then walked up a flight of stairs to get to the entrance to Mycroft’s flat. Mycroft then typed in a pin and inserted a key into the lock.

“That seems like a lot to go through to unlock your door.” Greg mused, Mycroft grinned slyly in return and opened the door.

Greg took off his damp shoes before looking at the flat, there was one wall made entirely of glass, which provided a lovely view of London. This was all a part of the sitting room, which along with the near by kitchen, had a modern feel.

“I will give you a tour, but you may wish to dry off first.” Mycroft said while starting a fire in the fireplace.

“Yes thank you Mr. Holmes.” Greg said while peeling off his damp coat.

“You can call me Mycroft.” He replied while taking Greg’s coat and walking off. When he came back Greg was warming up by the fire.

“It has occurred to me that you may wish to shower.”

“That would be nice.” Mycroft nodded and gestured for Greg to follow him. He opened the door that lead to Mycroft’s bedroom, which was a large room with a few bookshelves, and some drawers. Mycroft then walked into the closet and procured some towels and soft pyjamas.

“The bathroom is in there,” Mycroft gestured to the other door, “I hope that this is the right size for the pyjamas , they were short for me.”

“I’m sure they will be fine, thanks Mycroft.Mycroft smiled and nodded before leaving the room.

Greg opened the toilet’s door and looked in with awe. The bathroom was larger than his bedroom, and had a huge bath and a luxurious shower.

When he was finished with his shower, Greg dried himself off and put on the pyjamas. He left the bathroom, and went out to the main room to find Mycroft sitting on his couch reading a newspaper.

“Gregory, it seems you have finished, would you still like a tour.”

“Yes, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Not at all, besides you have seen most of it already.” He said before walking toward the only unopened room on this floor. “This is my study.”

The study had three walls completely covered in bookshelves and the fourth wall had some cabinets, and what appeared to be genuine pieces of impressionist art. There was also another turntable and collection of vinyls. This room had a more lived in feel than the other rooms.

“This is the room in which I spend most of my time.” Mycroft said.

“I can see why.”

“There is one more room.”

They exited the study and Greg followed Mycroft down the flight of stairs inside the flat.

“You have a bloody swimming pool in your flat!” Greg exclaimed with wide eyes.

“I found it to be preferable to running.”

“Doesn’t it bother the people below you?’

“The people who live below me are members of my security team and my personal assistant. They are also allowed to use the pool when I am not.”

“Perhaps I should look for a change in careers.” Greg muttered dryly.

“But then who would Sherlock work for?” Mycroft replied teasingly. Lestrade groaned.

“We should return upstairs, I believe my personal assistant wishes to use the pool.” He said while looking at a  figure standing across the pool.

When they were upstairs, a thought occurred to Greg.

“Since you only have one bedroom where will I sleep.’ He asked.

“I had figured that you would sleep in my bed.”

“I can’t just take your bed, besides you probably need the sleep more than I do seeing as you probably run this country.”

“But you work with Sherlock.” Greg laughed at this. “I suppose we are at a stalemate.”

“It’s a big enough bed. We could just share it.” Greg mused

“If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

Mycroft entered the room to change, and then opened the door for Greg, Without further ado, the two men got into bed. Mycroft then turned off the lights. They both lay in the dark pondering the odd circumstances that had allowed for their current situation.

“G’night Mycroft.” said Greg sleepily.

“Goodnight Gregory.”

  


 

 

 

 


	2. I can't get started (with you)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft's attempts to become closer to Gregory Lestrade go awry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this chapter is kind of angsty at the end. Also the song this time is I can't get started (with you).  
> I think the Ella Fitzgerald version works the best with Mycroft.

It had been a week since Greg had encountered Mycroft Holmes at the Diogenes. In that week Greg had a serial killer, three other unrelated homicides, and had several angry phone calls from the families of the victims due to Sherlock's harsh methods of questioning. To top the week off he had a four hour long legal meeting with his soon to be ex-wife. It was enough to make Lestrade tempted to take up smoking again. He hadn't, since some small part of his brain reminded him that if did take up smoking again, it would be a larger hassle to quit all over again later on.

 Lestrade was almost ready to leave work when he noticed a text message from John Watson.

            _Sherlock kicked me out, apparently I was thinking too loudly. can u meet at the regular place?_

Greg responded in the affirmative. It had been about a month since their last time meeting up for drinks. It only happened when John had been kicked out of Baker Street by Sherlock, although it had been recently happening less frequently.

By the time Greg had made it out of Scotland Yard and into the regular pub, John had been sitting there for about fifteen minutes.

“Sorry I’m late, it’s been a long week.”

“Tell me about it, Sherlock insists on using radioactive materials for experimentation.”

“Where the hell does Sherlock get radioactive materials from?” Greg asked with alarm.

“He steals them from Mycroft.” John replied downing the remainder of his shot of gin.

“Of course he does.’ Greg was still somewhat curious as to how Sherlock steals radioactive materials without causing a mass panic, but he figured since nothing had been blown up, that he has probably better off not knowing.

Greg stopped drinking after his second pint; he had another meeting with the attorney tomorrow. He spent the remainder of his night watching John get progressively drunk.

After John’s 6th pint, Greg noticed his phone was ringing.

‘“Hello, Greg here. Who is this?

 “Mycroft Holmes speaking, is Doctor Watson in your presence?”

“Well, yes,” He looked over at John who was swaying in his seat. “He’s very…”

“Inebriated?” Mycroft suggested.

“Shit-faced.”

“Are you as well?”

“I’ve only had a few pints.”

“A car shall be arriving at your location shortly for the good Doctor.” Mycroft said before hanging up.

“Who wazzit?” John slurred.

“Mycroft, he’s bringing a car for you.”

“I dun need no bloody car.” John replied before slumping over.

                                                            ~

Mycroft sat in his town car, watching London’s lights pass by. He was glad to be back in London after spending the whole week traveling. He had spent his first night back in the Diogenes only to have his night interrupted by several agitated messages from Sherlock, who had managed to lose track of his Doctor.  Normally he ignored Sherlock’s requests to go and locate John Watson, but when Sherlock had mentioned that the Detective Inspector was there Mycroft could not resist going. During their last meeting something about the Detective Inspector had caught Mycroft’s interest in a way that had not happened for a very long time.

When his car pulled up to the pub, Mycroft could see Greg supporting a hardly conscious John Watson. Greg walked over noticing the car, Mycroft rolled down the window.

“Just deposit the good doctor in the back. “

“Right,” Greg said while opening the back door.. “I’ll be going then.”

“Would you like to come as well, not to 221b of course, I would transport you to your abode...” Mycroft muttered.

“Did you say something Mycroft?” Greg asked. There was a pause for what Mycroft deemed to be an inappropriate amount before he responded.

“Never mind.”

“Alright, I’ll see you around then.” Greg said before walking off.

“How could I have been so insipid?” Mycroft muttered.

“Wha-?” John asked from the back before slumping over.

By the time Mycroft had returned John to Sherlock’s care, Mycroft had formed a plan of action.

                                                            ~

Greg stared at the blue wall of his attorney's office, while his soon to be ex wife listed what she wanted from the split. He didn’t really care about how much she got, except that he needed enough to survive on. Which he had repeatedly mentioned through the proceedings.

It had taken two hours to sort everything out, and as soon as the paperwork came back he would be legally divorced. He had already moved his stuff into his new flat, and he had made sure to take all of his possessions from his ex-wife with the hope that he would never have to see that women again. London was a large enough city that it was possible, and they never went to the same places anymore. When they were younger they had some common interests, but as time went they had less and less in common. Greg had tried to bring them closer together, but it seemed that the more he tried the farther she would pull away. And then she had to go and bloody cheat on him. Greg’s frustrated reverie was broken by a text from Sherlock informing him that he had solved the cold case he was working on.

 He opened the door to 221b to find a very hung-over John sprawled on the couch while Sherlock loomed over him.

“It was the cousin, who became angered when he found out that the victim had been sleeping with his wife. I have my deductions written in the file. Although this could hardly be considered a case, if you think you can pass of this pathetic excuse of a homicide off to me then I suggest you find some other consulting detective, or an infant.” Sherlock said while tossing Greg the file.

“Sorry Sherlock, I’ve been busy with the divorce and I haven’t had the time to find you some better cases.”  

“It was about time, your futile attempts to amend an unsuccessful marriage were only standing in the way of you performing your job properly. I suppose it would have not been as hopeless if she did not engage in coitus with the gym teacher where she worked. This is primarily due to her lack of faith in your ability to maintain the marriage with more interest in your career and growing preference towards men.”

“Sherlock.” John scolded.

“I’ll be going then.” Greg said coldly before storming down the stairs.

                                                                       

                                                                        ~

When Mycroft was informed that the CCTV footage was indicating that Greg was going to 221b, he followed quickly hoping to “accidentally” run into the detective inspector. By the time he had arrived, Lestrade had been walking down the steeps angrily.

“I assume that my younger brother has said something candidly again. If I m-” he was cut off by Greg.

“Piss off. If I have to hear another word from a Holmes int the next year, it will be far too soon.” he said before storming off.

The shock from Lestrade’s remark had begun to form a pit of sadness in his stomach. He was now sitting in the diogenes club, in his favorite chair smoking a cigarette, his fourth since his encounter with Greg earlier.        

Anthea, who was the only soul to know the source of his troubles had attempted to cheer him up throughout the day, and when she had realized it was not working, allowed him to take the rest of the day off to clear his head.

Some small part of his brain was frustrated. He was practically the British Government, he had tea with the Queen every other week, yet somehow he could not attain the interest of one insignificant Detective Inspector.  He sighed and took another sip of brandy. He had always been certain that caring was not an advantage, this was simply more proof.

            


	3. Pick Yourself Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg begins to regret his actions toward Mycroft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pick Yourself Up isn't really a jazz standard, but I thought it really fit this chapter. Also jazz standards are sort of ambiguous, but this is a popular song from this era and there are some variations of this song that have a bit more Jazz. Anyways enjoy,

Greg stared at the wall of his empty apartment, his cup of tea going cold. He was still absolutely furious with the consulting detective. What right did Sherlock have to say what he did about Greg’s marriage? It wasn’t like Sherlock would be able to maintain a more successful relationship.  Greg sighed, realizing that his and John’s  friendship was a better romantic relationship then him and his wife. It was then that Greg felt a pang of regret for getting angry at Mycroft.

 

As Greg went to go pour out his cold cup of tea he was tempted to go to Mycroft now and apologise, but he soon brushed it off figuring that it was too late and that he would do it the next day. He spent the remainder of the night planning his apology to the British government.

                                                                                                       ~

Mycroft awoke the next day to the sound of his private phone buzzing. The phone only had four numbers in it and he was pretty sure his parents had enough respect for personal space to not send him 32 messages at eight in the morning. Four of the messages were from John, who had been apologizing profusely for his flatmate's behavior.

 

The vast majority of Sherlock's texts were agitated messages proclaiming his boredom while insulting Mycroft's weight and lack of ability to form personal relationships. However there several which provided background to yesterday's incident:

 

                _Please kidnap DI Lestrade and inform him that if he wishes to keep up the appearance that Scotland Yard has some level of accomplishment, he must allow me to continue consulting - SH_

_I went to Scotland Yard and Lestrade wouldn't see me. Donovan threatened to arrest me, I may require your assistance - SH_

_I did not require assistance, John is here now. He is making me apologise to Gary. Apparently stating the reasons behind his divorce is impolite, and can be “upsetting” - SH_

_What is the Lestrade's first name? have been informed it is not Gary. -SH_

_Mycroft, he says he will not speak to me unless I can get his name correctly. -SH_

_John refuses to help -SH_

 

It was no excuse for Lestrade's rudeness, but it did provide some explanation for his unwarranted outburst. Mycroft attempted to call his brother, but as usual, Sherlock refused to answer.

                                                                                                                   ~

It had taken Sherlock four tries to get Lestrade’s name correct, and it had taken Sherlock a few more minutes to attempt to form words that bore a slight resemblance to an apology.  Greg figured he should probably accept it seeing as it would be the best he would get from Sherlock. He gave Sherlock a cold case involving a murder at a library and finished his paperwork before heading home at three.

 

He considers actually preparing food for once, but then decides take-out is much more convenient. He absentmindedly wonder’s if Mycroft’s club serves food as well. That thought jolted him into the reminder that he must go apologise to Mycroft.

 

Greg figured that he would have a better chance of catching Mycroft at the club, and he did like the atmosphere there so he wouldn’t mind waiting there. When he got to the  Diogenes club, Mycroft was not there. There was, however, a group of men on a small stage that had been covered by some tables when Greg had last been there. The group of men had jazz age looking suits on, complete with the main singer wearing a wide brimmed fedora. He was singing a song that Greg had thought was from a film with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, although he wasn’t quite sure.

 

He was so busy listening to the musicians that he failed to notice someone approaching him.

 

                                                                                                        ~

Mycroft had always found the Diogenes club to be the closest thing to a sanctuary in his life. His work, and Sherlock, who had no idea it existed could not find him there. So the Detective Inspectors appearance was an unwelcome one for Mycroft.

 

“What brings your presence into my establishment on this night?” Mycroft inquired.

 

“Mycroft,” Greg said with surprise. “ Sorry, you sort of surprised me, erm I’m here to apologize.” He fidgeted under Mycroft’s glare.

 

“Yes.” Mycroft said with enough ice in his voice to cause Lestrade to shiver.

 

“I shouldn't have yelled at you, I was just upset by some of your brother’s deductions. Sorry, no, I shouldn’t blame him, he was just saying something I didn’t want to hear.”

 

“About your marriage I presume?”

 

“Yeah- How did you know that? Oh right, you deduced it.” Greg replied while Mycroft took a seat next to him. The band had finished their song, and had gotten off the stage, and someone somewhere had put a record in.

 

Mycroft had deemed Greg’s apology to be acceptable, however he was still uncertain as to what exactly was happening between him and the Detective Inspector. He was a patient man, and he knew that it was in his best interest to simply watch how this would play out.  Mycroft had pulled out a cigarette and was lighting it when Greg spoke.

 

“Are you allowed to smoke in here?” He asked.

 

“Why else would there be ashtrays?” Mycroft answered in a voice similar to Sherlock’s when he thought the answer was blatantly obvious to everyone around him. “Would you like one.”

 

“It probably wouldn’t be a good idea. Shouldn’t you have deduced that I’m trying to quit?’ Greg asked a bit playfully.

 

“I was simply offering you one, whether you succumb to the temptation or not is dependent on you. Besides, I am not your conscience or your mother.” Greg laughed at his response.

 

“I suppose you’re right.” He said before taking a cigarette and allowing Mycroft to light it for him.

 

After Greg had exhaled the first breath of a cigarette he said, “Just like my marriage, I’m really starting to regret this cigarette.” This elicited a chuckle from Mycroft.

 

“Sorry was that too personal?” Greg asked.

 

“You seemed to have forgotten that I can deduce most about a person’s life upon a simple glance. It is hard to get too personal with me.”

 

“I guess I meant more along the lines of feelings.”

 

“I am not my brother, I do not feel repulsed by their existence. I find them to be vexatious, and unadvantageous but I do not mind others having them.” Mycroft replied, and both men sat in silence just listening to the music.

 

"The sad thing is I don't really miss her" Greg said contemplatively. “I guess I just don’t like being alone.”

 

Mycroft watched Greg think in silence. He had little to offer the man, seeing as the last technical relationship he had was in his university years. Of course, he had found means of acquiring relief when necessary, but it was pleasure for the sake of relief only.

 

The two men sat in the Diogenes, finishing their cigarettes and listening to the music.  When the Greg noticed that two hours had passed he remembered that he had work the next day.

 

“Time really flew by,” Greg remarked

 

“Indeed.”

 

“I have to go or I’ll be half asleep tomorrow. Oh, and again I’m really sorry, that was a shit thing for me to say.”

 

“You are forgiven.” Mycroft said genuinely. It was rare for Mycroft to receive a genuine apology, seeing as the majority of the people he dealt with were untrustworthy government officials and Sherlock.

 

“Good, tonight was fun. We should do this again sometime.” Greg said with a grin. Mycroft nodded in affirmation. He was fairly certain that Greg was just being polite.

 

After Greg had left, Mycroft checked up on the restaurant then returned to his home. He sat on his couch staring out at the London's skyline. He took a sip of the glass of whiskey he had poured for himself. With the events of that night Mycroft found himself thinking more about the Detective Inspector. Of course, he had no intention to ever act upon the feelings Lestrade caused in him, but Mycroft enjoyed the man’s easy companionship enough to be satisfied never taking things further.

                                                                                                      ~

When Greg returned home, he began unpacking the boxes into his new flat and placing everything where it belonged. The task was simple enough that it gave him time to think. He felt as though a cloud had lifted from his life. His relationship with his wife had failed and it was partially his fault; but at least they had the decency to end it as opposed to living the remainder of their lives in the facade of good marriage. And now he had another chance at finding someone. In that thought was a seed of an idea that perhaps that chance may just lie in the elder Holmes brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the next few chapters will begin picking up in terms of plot and romance. And as such it may take me a bit longer to write them.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry a lot of this was description, next update I will get into more plot.
> 
> Promise ;)


End file.
